


Fealty

by crimsonherbarium



Series: By Freya's Hand [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Cerys is Queen of Skellige, Cunnilingus, Drinking, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, Femslash February, Lesbian Sex, Oaths & Vows, Rare Pairings, Shameless Smut, Shieldmaidens, Some Plot, Sparring, Tribadism, like the littlest smidge of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium
Summary: At Geralt's behest, Jutta an Dimun leaves her home isle of Faroe in search of something better for herself.What Freya has in store for her is not what she was expecting.





	Fealty

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/) and [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/). I could not ask for better friends or betas. Paunchy writes incredible Skyrim smut, and bookscorpion has some lovely smutty Shadowrun: Hong Kong fics I highly recommend.

Jutta was beginning to think that taking the witcher's advice was a mistake.

As far as journeys of self-discovery went, this one had been piss poor. It had been almost a fortnight since she'd left Faroe, gathering all her worldly possessions in a single bag and sailing from the harbor in a rickety boat she'd bartered her hut for. The boat had sprung a leak almost immediately, and even with her frantically bailing out the seawater that invaded the hull she was still soaked to the waist by the time she made land in Hindarsfjall. The journey was for naught, too; she made just enough coin on a couple of fistfights to patch up the boat, but after she won the first two no one dared go up against her. She'd departed the island just as poor and lost as she'd been when she arrived.

An Skellig had been no better. The village there was hardly a village at all, and none of its inhabitants seemed particularly keen on interacting with her. There was either no work to be had, or they were unwilling to give her any. In any case, none were interested in taking on the Iron Maiden of Faroe. She left the very next morning before dawn. None noticed her slip away.

Jutta saw no reason that Ard Skellig would yield better opportunities, although at the very least the harbor at Kaer Trolde saw enough trade and traffic that foreigners and folk from other clans drew no extra attention. She was glad for that. Ever since she'd left home she'd felt profoundly out of place. She'd never left Faroe before, and though the island was hardly a pleasant one, it was home. She struggled to see where she fit into this larger tapestry.

She had just enough coin left to rent a room at The New Port for the night. After that, she didn't know she would do. The hot-blooded an Craite men who were rowdily drinking on the other side of the tavern had little interest in sparring with her. She'd thrashed the first three that accepted her challenge so thoroughly that they likely wouldn't be able to sit properly for a week. After that, none would accept her challenge. The shame of being beaten by a woman—a Clan an Dimun woman at that—was too great a risk. Jutta stared into her mead with a sour expression and thought ruefully that she ought to have pulled her strikes a little. If they thought they had a chance of winning, more of the warriors might have challenged her. Then she'd have had enough coin for a loaf of bread and some stew, at the very least.

Somewhere Freya was laughing at her. Jutta regretted her stupid oath. Perhaps she'd sworn fealty to the wrong goddess. She wasn't sure whether it was the Virgin, the Mother, or the Crone that was toying with her, but regardless of the face Freya wore the message was clear. _You are a fool._

The creak of the tavern door and a blast of frigid air shook her out of her thoughts. The newcomer was a woman, with fiery red hair and piercing amber eyes. Her cheeks and wine-red lips were marred by a series of scars; whether they were tokens of a battle with beast or man, Jutta could not say. A swath of Clan an Craite tartan was wound round her waist like a sash, anchored to the armored plates she wore over her padded gambeson. She carried with her an air of easy authority. Jutta got the impression of a woman who was dangerous, but not unreasonable, with a mind as sharp as her blade.

Jutta's eyes settled on the heavy silver circlet that rested on the woman's brow and her eyes widened. Of course—this was Cerys an Craite, the newly chosen queen of Skellige. She moved easily among her people, seemingly unfazed by the dozen pairs of eyes that were suddenly trained on her. The tavern fell conspicuously silent.

"I'm lookin' for a woman," she said plainly to the room. "An Dimun. The one they call the Iron Maiden."

Jutta stiffened, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through her. What in Freya's name did the queen want with her? She was reasonably certain there were no bounties posted on her, but she _had_ injured several warriors of her clan, and an Craites had a reputation for being hot-blooded. She reluctantly abandoned her drink and stood, leveling her gaze at the warrior queen and doing her best to appear unintimidated.

"You found her." Jutta bowed stiffly from the waist because it felt like the sort of thing she should do when meeting a queen. When she looked up, Cerys wore a hint of a smirk on her face.

"Heard you gave some of my boys quite the thrashin' the other day," she said coyly. "Wanted to see you with my own eyes."

Jutta raised an eyebrow. "So you're not planning on throwing me in your dungeon?"

"Hardly." Cerys grinned. "I'm here to accept your challenge."

Jutta blinked.

"Well?" The queen was still smiling, but her eyes glinted like steel. "Are you goin' to just stand there lookin' gobsmacked? Or are you goin' to draw your sword?"

Jutta did her best to shake off the shock and confusion and joined Queen Cerys in the open center of the room as the rest of the tavern stared at the two of them in shock. Her hand strayed to the hilt of her sword for comfort. She squeezed the leather-wrapped grip and breathed deeply. Grounded herself. Let her stance widen. Pictured herself becoming a stone. Strong, resolute, immovable. Calm against the onslaught of battle like the stones that made up her home on Faroe against the vengeful wrath of a stormy sea. _Freya, let my blade strike true._

When she opened her eyes, she was ready.

Cerys struck first, a swinging blow that was meant to test Jutta's defenses. She blocked it easily and riposted, lunging for her opponent, who spun to evade the thrust and countered by swinging her sword down like a hammer toward Jutta's head. Jutta side-stepped and took two quick paces backward, creating space between them.

The queen was nimble, surprisingly light on her feet, and fought with a style unlike anything Jutta had ever seen. It was an unlikely combination of bluntness and dexterity, as if the person who used it had undergone a great deal of fencing training and then decided they preferred to fight with an axe instead. Jutta realized almost as soon as she'd finished forming the thought that that was probably exactly what had happened.

There was no reprieve, no pulling of blows, and Jutta was glad for it. It meant that she didn't have to worry about striking too hard. She was free to duck and counter and swing her blade as though this were a real battle. As though she were trying to sink her steel into Cerys's milk-white skin. Every swing of her sword was expertly blocked and returned in an unexpected and unpredictable manner. The queen's face betrayed nothing of her intentions, her eyes and blade both glinting with reflected firelight as the two danced across the rough flagstone of the tavern floor. Jutta gritted her teeth and threw herself into the duel, losing all sense of self in the rhythm of their footsteps. In the sound of a sword slicing through thin air perilously close to her ear.

One of her lunges grazed the back of Cerys's hand, opening up a thin cut that streamed drops of crimson as she riposted and brought her blade down hard on Jutta's with a clang. The queen did not flinch. She did not hesitate.

Jutta found herself trying harder and harder to break through Cerys's defenses with no success. She was too fast. Where the effort of battle seemed to drain energy from Jutta, it seemed to bestow extra upon Cerys. Swinging desperately, she attempted to attack Cerys's flank and was stopped suddenly short, her blade caught in a lock with the queen's—

A flick of Cerys's wrist and her sword was sent clattering across the tavern floor. Jutta froze, mind racing to piece together the sudden emptiness of her hand, the pleased and exhilarated expression on Cerys's face, the steel that hovered just inches from her own—

Jutta dropped to her knees. "I yield."

Sheathing her blade, Cerys smiled as the tavern exploded in cheers and raucous revelry. The tips of her fingers ghosted Jutta's jaw, lifting her chin so that her own sea glass green eyes met Cerys's amber ones. Jutta suddenly felt as if all the air had been snatched from her lungs, color rising to her face unbidden at the caress of the queen's hands on her skin.

"You're good with your blade," Cerys said, apparently impressed. She offered a hand to Jutta, who took it hesitantly and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She retrieved her sword from where it rested several feet away under a banquet table, carefully inspecting it for damage before sliding it back into its sheath.

That settled it. Freya was certainly laughing at her, Jutta thought bitterly, her eyes downcast. First a witcher and now a woman.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The queen was still there for some reason, watching Jutta with interest.

"Why?" She failed to keep the incredulity from bleeding into her tone. She was a waste of a warrior, champion to no one.

"Because you look like you could use it," Cerys said amicably. "And I’d like to learn more about you. Join me?"

Jutta felt her face flush hot once more. She nodded and followed the queen to a secluded table in the corner as the rest of the tavern turned back to its original rowdiness. Cerys was mercifully quiet as Jutta fought to compose herself, speaking only when they both had large mugs of mead in hand and the heat had faded from Jutta's cheeks.

"You come from Faroe," Cerys said, her words more of a statement than a question. Jutta nodded nonetheless, drinking deeply from her mug. "How does your clan fare?"

Jutta shrugged. "The slavers grow bolder by the day, but they mostly let my village be. The crops grow and the men hunt. Nothing much changes."

"Did you like it there?"

She honestly didn't know. Faroe was stagnant. Naught grew there but the weeds. "It's home."

"Why did you leave then, if you don't mind my askin'?"

Jutta chewed on her words for a moment. "I made an oath," she said finally. "And I wasn't able to fulfill the terms of it there."

"What sort of oath?"

“A foolish one.” Jutta stared down at the mug clasped in her hands. “When I came of age there was much pressure in our village for me to marry and produce some whelps. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I was a shield-maiden, a warrior. I’d rather swing a sword than plant a garden and do the washing. And so I swore an oath to Freya that I wouldn’t wed until a man defeated me in single combat.” Her lip curled in a rueful sneer. “Eventually, such a man appeared. But he was a witcher, and he wanted no part of me. He bade me to leave Faroe and make my own way—to look for something better for myself.” She sighed. “I’m certain Freya is laughing at me now.”

“Or maybe she just knows you don’t find men appealin’,” Cerys said gently.

Jutta looked up to find Cerys looking into her eyes with an understanding that made her feel suddenly naked under her gaze. Blood colored her face anew as she drowned her shyness in sour Ard Skellig mead.

“Some oaths aren’t meant to be carried out to the letter.” Cerys wiped away a drop of blood that oozed from the cut on the back of her hand. “If you ask me, the Goddess is givin’ you an out. And—” She grinned— “I might have an offer that will release you from your vow.”

Jutta raised her eyebrow.

“Become my shield-maiden.” Cerys’s grin grew wider. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you. I’m bettin’ you could teach my warriors a thing or two. You’ll have a warm bed to sleep in at night and a full belly. It’s not glamorous, strictly speakin’, but it’s better than fendin’ off suitors you’ve no interest in.”

Drinking deeply from her mug, Jutta mulled it over. Perhaps Cerys was right. Freya had yet to steer her wrong—if she was leading Jutta in circles, then perhaps the goddess knew her heart better than she knew it herself. Shield-maiden to the queen was a great honor, too, and not one easily refused. There was no way her family could argue against it. Cerys had just handed her a golden goose.

Jutta set her empty mug back down on the table with a thunk. “I accept your proposal.”

Cerys looked at Jutta through the fringe of her eyelashes, her countenance somehow both regal and ravenous. “And what if I have one more?”

 

~~~~~~

The walk up the cliffside to Kaer Trolde had been long and cold, the frigid wind tearing the warmth from Jutta’s bones. The guards that stood at the portcullis bowed for Cerys as they passed. Jutta trailed close on her heels, feeling incredibly out of place. This wasn’t the sort of place she’d expected to find herself. The keep was by far the grandest place she’d ever set foot in, its dark stone carved directly into the mountain its stone had been mined from. The view over the harbor was striking.

Cerys led her down a labyrinth of twisting hallways. Jutta quickly lost count of the turns as they traveled ever deeper into the belly of the keep. As they walked, the tapestries that dotted the walls gradually became more frequent, as did the candles and sconces that provided pockets of light amidst the corridors of dark stone.

The air grew warmer as they reached Cerys’s chambers, and Jutta shivered. The warmth was at odds with the chill in her core—it brought a flush to her skin, but the cold in her bones needed more. As Cerys let the heavy oak door fall shut behind them, a shiver of anticipation ran down Jutta’s spine.

Cerys grinned at her, her wine-dark lips flushed and appealing against her pale skin. Jutta found herself caring not for propriety or decorum; she pulled Cerys close before her mind could protest and kissed her deeply. The warrior queen responded warmly, her hands pushing Jutta’s chain hood from her head and tangling in her hair, pulling her close.

The two stumbled across the stone floor, tangled up in each other, toward an enormous bed covered in white furs. A fire blazed hot in the grate, making Jutta sweat under the layers of her gambeson. She pulled at the buckles at her neck, her fingers made clumsy by mead and desire.

Cerys laughed, her deft fingers undoing the buckles and ties that Jutta struggled with. The armor fell from her body piece by piece, links of mail clinking softly against each other like little bells as they came to rest on the flagstones. Without the weight of the metal and fabric on her body, Jutta found that she could breathe again, the sensation of warm air on her exposed skin chasing the fog from her mind.

Fabric fell from Cerys’s body in layers as the queen turned her attention to her own garments. Her plate joined Jutta’s mail on the floor by the fire; her boots were kicked from her feet and came to rest several feet away. Jutta’s eyes roamed her body hungrily, drinking in her curves, the pale blue of the veins that ran beneath her skin. The flush in her cheeks that extended down her slender neck to her collarbone. The scars that raked across her left breast, the lines of them silvery against the white of her flesh.

Cerys regarded her with a pleased expression, as if she had deemed Jutta’s survey of her charms acceptable. She pulled Jutta close, biting at her bottom lip and slipping her tongue inside Jutta’s mouth when she opened it to inhale in shock. A fire burned in Jutta’s chest, hotter by far than the one in the hearth. Truth be told, she’d not given into desire for a woman like this before. Her oath had been to Lady Freya above all else. Chastity was easy to maintain when all she focused on was her sword.

Jutta caressed Cerys’s breast, letting her hands roam ever lower as she kissed her way down her collarbone to the scars that marred the delicate skin there. Cerys sighed as Jutta’s tongue swirled over her nipple. Jutta smiled, the assurance that she was doing _something_ right emboldening her as she knelt before her queen on the bear-skin rug in front of the fire.

She pressed her lips to the creamy skin of Cerys’s thigh and sucked as the queen looked down at her approvingly. This position, this genuflection before the woman who had released her from her oath struck a chord in Jutta’s heart. Acts of service. Devotion. Willingness to protect, to surrender. These were duties she felt in her soul. She was a shield-maiden. She was a knight.

The words tumbled from her lips unbidden as she nuzzled Cerys’s warm thigh. “This day do I render homage and fealty to my sovereign Lady, Cerys an Craite…” She moved to the other thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin and smiling softly as Cerys sucked in her breath. “True and rightful Queen of the Skellige Isles, who will, from this day forward, be my Liege Lady.” She dragged her lips higher, her hands on Cerys’s hips moving to cup her arse. “I will remain true in all ways, serving her faithfully.” Cerys’s leg trembled. “This I do swear, by my sword and chain, and by the honor I hold as a shield-maiden of Clan an Craite.” She pressed her lips to Cerys’s cunt, murmuring into the soft ginger hair between her thighs. “So say I, Jutta of Clan an Dimun.”

Cerys hummed in approval as Jutta licked her, lapping at the wetness of her cunt as her fingers squeezed her arse tightly. “I accept your homage and fealty,” she gasped brokenly as Jutta’s tongue laved over her, “And pledge to you that from this day forward until the end of my reign—” she broke off, moaning softly. “—you are my Liegewoman, to whom I give my service faithfully. So say I, Cerys an Craite, High Queen of Skellig—shit.”

Jutta broke away, laughing, and Cerys pulled her to her feet, pushing her toward the bed. Jutta fell backward onto the mound of soft white furs, warmth from the fire seeping into her bones. “I wasn’t finished with you,” she said with a grin, and Cerys raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” She climbed astride Jutta, her thighs on either side of Jutta’s face. “Best get on with it, then.”

Jutta reached up to grip Cerys’s hips and pulled her down against her, reveling in the sweet taste of her cunt. Cerys ground down against her, moaning, her body hot against Jutta’s face. Jutta lost herself in her task, in the soft rocking of Cerys’s hips on top of her, in the wetness of her on her cheeks, in the strength of her thighs and the supple curve of her hips.

Cerys’s thighs tensed on either side of Jutta’s head as she moved atop her, her body trembling as she gasped. “Gods, don’t stop—” Jutta swept her tongue over her cunt, focusing just as she would in battle, exploiting Cerys’s weaknesses. She keened, her thighs spasming as she came, sending a rush of heat and desire through Jutta.

She wiped her mouth as Cerys rolled off her, fighting to catch her breath as aftershocks rippled through her body. When Cerys had composed herself, she looked to Jutta with a grin. “You’ve served well,” she purred, caressing Jutta’s breast. “Time I cared for you in turn.”

Warm skin met warm skin as Cerys climbed atop her once more, this time straddling Jutta’s hips so that Cerys’s cunt was pressed against her own. Jutta gasped as heat flooded her face.

“Is this what you want, my faithful warrior?”

“Yes, my queen,” Jutta murmured.

Cerys rolled her hips against Jutta and she couldn’t help but cry out. The heat, the friction, the slickness of her—it was beyond anything she’d experienced before. Jutta found herself transfixed by the way the light of the fire defined the lines of Cerys’s muscles. The sharp angles of her cheekbones. The raw desire apparent in her face as she ground against Jutta at a steady pace, slowly increasing in speed as Jutta moaned and gripped her thigh for leverage.

Lust took control of Jutta’s body. She hadn’t indulged herself in far too long. It didn’t take much for her to fall apart under Cerys’s touch, pleasure building in her like a river that burst forth when the dam finally broke. She cried out as she came, unable to do anything but grasp futilely at the furs as Cerys carried her through it.

When the last of the spasms had passed and Jutta could begin to form a coherent thought again, Cerys disentangled herself from Jutta’s legs with an easy smile and laid down on top of her, pressing an exceedingly gentle kiss to her flushed lips. Jutta wrapped her arms around Cerys, losing herself in the warmth and comfort of her touch and the fire that still burned hot in the background.

Eventually, Cerys’s eyes grew heavy and her body relaxed against Jutta’s. With regret, the shield-maiden moved to disentangle herself from the queen, reasoning that she ought to slip out and find a place to sleep for the night.

“Don’t,” Cerys’s groggy voice murmured from under the pile of furs beside her. “Stay. As long as you serve, you’ll have a place here.”

Jutta hesitated, wrestling with the duality of what she wanted and what was right. In the end, her heart won out and she settled back into the soft bed beside her queen, her lips pressed against Cerys’s forehead. What tribulations tomorrow might bring, she did not know. But for a moment, just a moment, all was well.

**Author's Note:**

> This can be considered a prequel to my other published work for this pairing, [Shield-Maiden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725904). I've collected them in a series now to make them easier to find. I have plans for several more smutty fics featuring these two!
> 
> The rarepair gods have smiled upon us and AO3 has bestowed Jutta with an official character tag and an official tag for the pairing. I'm thrilled! These two make perfect sense together and I wish more people were writing about them. 
> 
> If you enjoyed my work, please consider leaving me a comment! I'd love to hear from you :)


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